


It Was Never About Goodbye

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:22:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you realize what you have lost, you've won.<br/>One year post 513</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was Never About Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ in 2008.

_“Sometimes I wonder where I’ve been,_ _who I am, do I fit in?_ _Make believin’ is hard alone,out here on my own.”  ©L &M. Gore_

The ride from the airport took forever—the endless number of people, the endless piles of luggage, the endless wait for a taxi. All endless. Like his time in New York _._    
  
At least the sun was shining. The incongruity between the dreary weather when he said goodbye and today’s blind-your-eyes sunshine as he said hello again wasn't lost on him. He prayed it was a good sign. God knows he needed one.  
  
He didn’t tell Brian he was coming home. He didn’t want to be talked out of it, didn’t want to hear the reasons, the excuses why he shouldn’t come back, why he shouldn’t _want_ to come back. After all, New York was the only place on earth where he could become a big fat fucking success. Yeah, right. Like he couldn't paint or be successful in Pittsburgh?  
  
He was still more than a little miffed at Lindsay for planting that insidious seed. Because Brian bought the crap. Considering that his mind was well-fertilized with enough insecurity, guilt, and doubt to make tulips grow in winter, it was no wonder the idea blossomed and bloomed.    
  
According to the quintessential relationship authority who knew jack shit about the subject, he had to 'follow that dream.' The principle was classic Kinney rhetoric and depending on perspective, either normally selfish or bizarrely altruistic.  
  
And the reason behind the reason _,_ the one over-riding factor that drove every action? Fear. Sometimes after they fucked, Brian unconsciously let his guard down and glimmers of the person inside would surface. He couldn't imagine the mental and emotional burden the man imposed on himself, unable or unwilling to unlock his heart because he couldn’t remember where he put the key or if he ever had one in the first place.     
  
What angered the most was that Brian took the decision out of his hands because he couldn't live with feeling responsible if he stayed. He wouldn’t allow himself to be the cause. He wanted to be the effect while never admitting his own culpability in the chain of events.  
  
He hadn’t wanted to go, at least not then. But Brian would have mounted a surreptitious campaign to sabotage them if he didn’t. So he left with the hollow epitaph of ‘it’s only time’ in his ears, hoping to soothe an impossibly handsome man's troubled conscience and satisfy his own curious ego.  
  
He knew he was good. The question was how good? Cities were littered with good artists, even great artists. Where did he fit in? He couldn’t count how many sleepless nights and restless days he spent wondering what the fuck he was doing. Even a few favorable reviews couldn't lift his depressing pall. Eventually the physical separation took its toll and played havoc with his creativity.  
  
_“I’ve spent so many mornings just trying to forget you._ _I’m trembling now, you can’t know how I’ve missed you.” ©A.L.Weber_

Ethan had called him his muse at the Heifetz competition, and he nearly laughed in his face. Muse? He didn't think so. There was you and your talent. Mythical motivation or divine intervention had nothing to do with it. Christ, talk about channeling Brian. _You're the only one you need. You're the only one you've got._  
  
But he had to give the idea serious consideration when he evaluated his latest pieces with a critical eye—uninspired, apathetic, lifeless. He mentally dissected and debated in endless circles that always returned to one point. The one thing, the one person who mattered most was missing. With a lightning bolt of awareness, the epiphany shook him out of his pathos. New York would have to wait for him and maybe with a little luck, for both of them. They might not last in the long run, but he wasn't going to rush the demise with their own miserable tale of two cities.  
  
Startled from his thoughts by the screech of tires, he jerked up in the vinyl seat and stared at the familiar brick building. A vague fear crept up on him like a rolling fog. Fuck! He wasn’t ready. He needed more time. But time for what? To prepare for Brian's reactions and arguments or to prepare for his own?  
  
The cab's impatient idle made him want to jump out of his skin. Smothered by an unexpected wave of claustrophobia, he paid the driver with a wad of crumpled bills and scrambled out of the confined space. He threw his back pack and duffle bag on the sidewalk, saddened by a poignant realization. Even after a year in New York, his whole life was in these two pieces of luggage. Since he was seventeen, he felt like a rootless wanderer and couldn't agree with Dorothy that there was no place like home.    
  
He drove out the annoying melancholia with a vigorous shake of his head, inhaled a determined breath, and went in to meet his future.  
  
_“I don’t know why I’m frightened.I know my way around here._  
_It’s a world to rediscover,but I’m not in any hurry._ _And I need a moment_ _.”_ © _A.L.Weber  
_


End file.
